


everyone has daddy issues

by garbagecollector



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bad handjobs, Costume Kink, Daddy Issues, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8075041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagecollector/pseuds/garbagecollector
Summary: Nightwing investigates the intent behind Red Hood’s latest visit to Gotham. He doesn’t like what he finds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So much thanks to [leifmotiff](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leifmotifff/pseuds/leifmotifff), [TKodami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TKodami/pseuds/metropolisjournal), and [Venstar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar) for giving me precious feedback, and basically holding my hand through my first fic. 
> 
> There's a lot of relationship tags, but JayDick is endgame.

“A little rough on those guys down there, huh?” Dick looked down into the alley below, squinting at the flashing ambulance and police lights. He watched them collect the tied up drug dealers sitting in a seeping puddle of their own blood.

Batman didn’t even blink. His jaw was clenched so hard one of his limbs probably could have been cut off and he wouldn’t feel it.

“Red Hood is back in Gotham.”

“Red Hood? Are you sure?”

Batman glared at him.

“Well, this just doesn’t fit his M.O. Those guys down there are alive, right?”

“It was Red Hood.” Batman’s gaze darted briefly.

As much as Dick trusted Batman, he wouldn’t mind if for once Bruce gave him a thorough debriefing on a situation before thrusting it upon him. Sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that Batman was being a little cagey and uncertain at times (he was used to ignoring those feelings whenever they came up though).

“Is that why you called me over?”

“Nightwing, I need you to stop Red Hood.”

“Uh,” Dick eloquently started, “did I hear you ask me to stop a mentally unstable murderous terrorist that you’ve been unsuccessful in apprehending for the last how many years? I appreciate your confidence in me, but…”

There was that suffocating disapproval again. When will you ever learn, Dick?

“I need to go undercover to investigate a gang leader that will only be staying in Gotham for a few days. I’ve been following his trail for months, and I can’t let this slip just because suddenly Red Hood decided he has something to prove.”

It was impressive how Batman could reduce a man who killed countless people into a petulant child, but that’s what Dick was starting to feel about Jason too these days.

“I don’t expect you to tie him up for GCPD,” he continued, “But I need you to figure out what he’s up to, and at least keep him from hurting anyone else until my infiltration is over.”

Dick sighed. “What a world we live in where when a criminal decides to spare someone’s life, it’s cause for alarm.”

He glanced over at Batman, expecting yet another wave of disapproval, but was instead met by Batman’s remarkably wooden form looking away from him. Jason was a sore spot for everyone, but Bruce seemed… awkward?

“Well uh,” Dick began, feebly attempting to dispel the weird mood that suddenly settled over them, “I guess I can ask Red Robin if he could –“

“He already agreed to patrol Blüdhaven, while you take care of things here. Robin will be taking over my usual patrol routes in my place. I just need you to handle Red Hood.”

Something heavy settled in the base of Dick’s stomach. Of course Batman already had everything figured out, so that he could dedicate all of his attention to Red Hood. Dealing with the guy who was a disagreeable teen at his best and an unyielding murderer at his not-best, and who was also the cause behind one of the bleakest periods of his life wasn’t exactly something he was itching to do. But better him than Tim, or especially Damian (who was the last person anyone wanted being influenced by Jason in any way).

“Nightwing.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Dick sighed. He waited for a sound or look that projected _get over yourself and just do it_ , but Batman was still looking as uncomfortable as ever.

“It’ll be three, maybe four days at most.”

He nodded. Batman was still avoiding eye contact, pretending to look down below. But the policemen and the ambulances were already gone, and the streets were silent except the occasional passing car and the sound of Batman’s mounting discomfort.

Dick looked away. He didn’t have to turn around to know that Batman already left, but the unpleasant air lingered.

It was times like this he had the sneaking suspicion that Batman was simply pawning off a task he didn’t want to deal with. But he did his best to maintain his faith in his mentor, and tried to convince himself that Bruce really did need his help with this case. Dick tried to get the image of the Dark Knight, suddenly looking too big for his suit, staring keenly at a garbage bin as though all of the answers to his troublesome situation were hidden underneath the lid, out of his head. He had his own investigation to start, and he jumped down into the alley.

\---

On the third night, Jason struck again. Dick was making his rounds, like usual, when he just barely caught a flash of red below him, followed by the piercing sound of gunshots and pained screams. By the time he landed on the street, five of the seven men were already down, their bodies lying still and bleeding out.

“Hey! Stop!” Dick yelled, not before Jason slammed one guy’s head against the hood of their car, and kicked the last guy right in the teeth.

“You’re not Batman,” the Red Hood spat as he turned around. The eyes on his red helmet were sculpted in a permanent frown, but Dick could perfectly picture Jason’s disappointed face, narrowing his eyes at him underneath.

He instantly felt a flare of irritation at Red Hood’s disregard for other human beings, his pissy tone, and the thought of Jason’s scowl. Nothing tore down his self-control as rapidly as Jason did. His simple presence forced years of anger, resentment, and vexing memories of an arrogant fifteen year-old telling him to “suck his dick” to the forefront of his mind almost instantaneously.

“Good to know you can actually see out of that thing,” Dick snapped back. “What are you doing out here, Red Hood?”

“Taking out the trash, _clearly_.” Red Hood stalked towards him, but tripped over one of the bodies on the ground. Dick wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Jason’s towering, stumbling frame trying to play off the mishap, and stomping on the offending hand of the person in his way. However, his patience was already worn thin, and Dick could only wince at the subsequent wet howl. It was dark on this corner of the street, but he wasn’t _blind_. Dick sighed deeply, and tried to ignore the smell of blood weighing down his lungs.

“They’re still alive.” _For once_ , Dick thought. “Last time I checked, your definition of cleaning up the streets was a little different.”

“Maybe I’m trying out something new.”

Trying out something new, his ass. Who the hell was he trying to impress with this childish behavior.

“Is this supposed to get Batman’s attention? Why are you doing this?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Batman, actually.”

Dick could hear the snarky grin underneath the helmet as Red Hood replied, “If Batman wants to know so bad, he can find out himself.”

“Unsurprisingly, Batman has more important business to attend to, so I got stuck with babysitting duty.”

“What?” Jason didn’t seem to anticipate that possibility. Red Hood clearly overestimated people’s desire to voluntarily approach him in any capacity. “Where is he then?”

“ _Who wants to know_?” Dick sneered back. He was met with silence, but he swore that he could somehow see the helmet turn a little redder.

Anyone else probably would’ve been intimidated breathing the same air as six solid feet of murderous intent. Even his body broke out into a cold sweat, but the incredibly petty, impulsive part of his brain apparently derived enough satisfaction from provoking Jason to want to continue prodding and poking him in the face of probable, violent death. He liked to think that he was better than that though. Usually.

Dick took a deep breath, and dialed it back a little bit. “Look. I really don’t want to be here, and you really don’t want me here, so why don’t you just tell me what your big bad plan is?” Dick said impatiently.

“It doesn’t involve you, Nightwing,” Jason hissed through the mask. “Batman just needs to –“

Again with Batman.

“Oh my god.” Dick stared at him exasperatedly. “Why are you so fixated on Batman? Did _daddy_ never give you enough attention?”

He was hit with a punch to the face before he could blink, and barely managed to block another before receiving a knee to his stomach. The air had been knocked out of him, his head was throbbing, and his body refused to move a minute before he could react to whatever came next.

The minute would have cost him in any other fight, but nothing else ever came. He looked around dizzily to see that Red Hood was already gone, and then dialed 911 for the unconscious gang members around him.

As Dick made his way back home, dejected at his mission failure and frustrated that he let Jason get to him, he vaguely remembered a similar feeling the first time Jason managed to beat him in a fight.

It was when Jason was still Robin, but he had finally finished his growth spurt, and was slowly filling out. Dick couldn’t remember exactly what it was he said, but he accidentally pushed a button he shouldn’t have while teasing him about some crush he had. He could still recall Jason’s face flushed red with humiliation, and the pain of a familiar fist to his jaw. He wasn’t used to Jason’s new lanky build and longer reach at the time, and in the end, got his ass handed to him. He always did have a hair-trigger temper, and reacted so strongly to embarrassment. After that Dick stopped needling his sorta-brother about...

Oh. _Oh_. Jesus Christ, what was he going to tell Bruce?

\---

“Batman.”

“Nightwing.”

Dick took a minute to school his face into a pleasant expression, and to suppress the annoyance threatening to taint his voice as he walked deeper into the Batcave towards Bruce’s computer. “How is your investigation going?”

“Hmm. Adequately.”

Dick didn’t want to believe Robin when he informed him about what Bruce had actually been been up to in the past three days. Dick had been frantically searching all over Gotham for Matches Malone, only to run into Robin by chance, and discover that Bruce had been sitting in the Batcave every night since their encounter. Now that he finally had the chance to talk to him face to face about Jason, Bruce’s casual tone almost knocked him off of his feet.

Dick attempted to gather the last of his worn down patience and respect towards Batman from the past few days to give him benefit of the doubt. Maybe Bruce was still preparing for this particularly hard case. Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and that was why he still hadn’t turned around to face him.

“So I finally ran into Jason.” He heard the sound of a page turn. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stop him before he started going after more people.”

“It is regrettable,” Batman began after turning over another page, “but Red Hood is unpredictable and difficult to control. We’ll get him next time.”

“I um… did manage to talk to him, though.”

Batman didn’t even bother with a retort, but the _And?_ hung in the air nonetheless.

“I think he’s uh…” God, how was he going to say this, “…trying to get your _attention_.”

He saw Bruce nodding his head slightly, while shuffling around more papers on the desk. Well that certainly didn’t register right.

“I asked him what his deal was… but he kept bringing you up…”

The paper sounds stopped. Dick waited for a response, but none came.

“…And since he clearly wants to talk to you, maybe you can handle this by yourself now?” he added a little desperately. So what if he wanted to just go home, sleep for a few days straight, and hide in his own shitty city, rather than dealing with an unruly butcher with daddy issues who wanted nothing to do with him?

Bruce was absolutely still in front of him. The cave was dead silent aside from a faint dripping sound echoing from some far off corner, but Dick could almost hear the sound of Bruce’s brain whirring as it calculated ten different things at once.

The mind of Batman was like a machine. He could disassemble things, and put all the pieces right back together in a glance. He could analyze any fight, and determine how to get checkmate with the shortest amount of turns before anyone moved a muscle. It all made him an incredible detective, but it didn’t make him perfect. No matter how many criminals he put behind bars wearing that monstrous suit, he was still human. Sometimes, he miscalculated.

“I already did.”

Dick was already stomping over to the desk and shoving himself in front of it before he even realized what he was doing. He stared straight into the pair of tired, grey eyes that seemed determined to look through his body and continue reading the papers behind him.

“What do you mean you ‘ _already did_ ’?” he bit out. Dick saw Bruce’s eyes itching to look away, felt his breath against his face, and sensed his regret choking him.

“... Last time,” Bruce eventually replied. “He talked to me before you arrived.”

Batman’s body was like stone— Dick could barely see his chest move with his breaths. He scrutinized the statue in front of him, Bruce’s pale face, his fisted hands, his tight shoulders.

Batman was hiding something under his armor. Dick searched him up and down, looking for a hidden crack or seam, something to explain his singular focus on his case, on the papers in front of him. He turned around, and looked at the folders on the desk.

There was a small notebook with hastily written scribbles, a stack of newspaper clippings, and the police profiles of the group he was trying to infiltrate. But there were also other folders from cases he already solved where the criminals were already put in jail, pointless paperwork from Wayne Enterprises, invoices and tax forms that wouldn’t be due for months, and an outdated issue of a Golf Digest. When he turned back, Bruce looked like a child standing beside a fallen priceless vase. He had never imagined Bruce could seem so small.

“You—”

Shame washed over Bruce’s face, but Dick couldn’t see past the red.

“You knew,” he hissed. “All this time. What were you going to do exactly if I hadn’t found out?”

Any vulnerability Bruce momentarily expressed was immediately shielded as he retreated into his suit. There went Bruce, doing that _Thing_ he always did whenever faced with an issue he couldn’t physically beat into submission. God forbid he recognized people’s feelings and dealt with them reasonably before his personal conflict blew up in his face, and unintentionally exposed itself to everyone remotely involved, like some big, flaccid—

“I didn’t want to validate his destructive and unreasonable behavior by acknowledging it, and giving him the attention he evidently craves.”

“By making _me_ deal with it for you?!” Dick yelled. “You think ignoring him is going to stop him from beating people halfway to death? And don’t insult me by even pretending he’s not _gagging_ for you.”

Bruce impressively managed not to flinch underneath his armor. His eyes remained cold, and he disregarded the attempts to penetrate his defense.

“It worked before.”

The revelation hit Dick like a crowbar to the face (or maybe not quite like that), and he felt blood rush to and from his face as a mixture of emotions flooded him all at once.

He took in the man he used to idolize before him—the weariness weighing down Bruce’s frame, the deep cuts of worry on his face, and the hollowness in the grey void of his eyes. For the first time in his entire life, Dick thought that Bruce looked old and tired. The years of running suddenly became apparent in his expression, as though someone turned on the lights in a dimly lit room, and suddenly every deep, dark corner was visible. Dick couldn’t be sure when Bruce started to look like this, or if he had always looked this deflated.

The question of when exactly Bruce had needed to pull shit like this before was a thought he quickly tried to stomp out.

He looked back up to Bruce’s face, and took in just how close they were. After breathing in the same air for a few more seconds, he decided he needed to leave. Dick maneuvered himself out from between desk and Bruce, being sure to avoid making skin contact in any way.

“Good night,” he said, before getting on his bike and heading home.

He didn’t imagine Jason wearing his Robin costume, stealing glances at Batman whenever he wasn’t looking. He didn’t think about Robin doing everything in his power to impress Batman in uniform while on patrol and out of uniform during school. He definitely didn’t remember the days when Batman used to pat him on the head after a job well done, and the following warmth that tickled his chest and radiated down to the base of his stomach.

Instead he readjusted himself on his seat, pushed down on the gas a little bit more, and let the night air rush past him, cooling down his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tim and Damian show up, yay! But the explicit stuff doesn't come up until the next chapter, sorry!

The next morning Dick got out of bed later than usual, but felt no more rested from his sleepless night spent staring at his ceiling. As tempting as it was to spend the rest of his life in his bed, he started his morning routine. No matter how much attention he tried to put into brushing his teeth and shaving his face, his mind insisted on replaying the entirety of last night. He honestly never wanted to return to Gotham, or talk to Bruce or Jason ever again. However, someone had to make sure Jason stopped brutalizing criminals, and it felt wrong to Dick to just pawn the job off onto someone else the way  Bruce had.

After his excruciatingly long shift at the station (and hearing just about every single one of his co-workers tell him that he looked like shit, and that should get some rest), he put on his suit, and headed over to Gotham for another night of patrol. Dick followed his usual route, watching over other potential targets, and tried to keep an eye out for another flash of red or a shifting shadow from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he didn’t run into either of them so far, knowing that he needed to confront them again at some point, but also not wanting to touch that mess with a fifty-foot pole.

As he watched people mill in and out from the back of a restaurant below, he heard a slight thud behind him. It was a solid landing, albeit a little heavy on the heels, but when you’re only a hundred and twenty pounds you don’t have to worry too much about making a lot of noise from a six foot drop.

“Nightwing.”

“Hey Robin,” Dick returned.

“Is he coming tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” — _Thank God_ he thought. “But I’m keeping watch just in case. How are things on your end?”

Damian was looking over the edge too, scrutinizing the people carrying boxes from a delivery truck. He looked particularly predatory when he was being extra attentive, but that usually meant he was in a good mood.

“Batman has been busy… but he allowed me to keep watch on the East side by myself for the past few days. I have successfully apprehended several criminals unharmed.”

Robin was too dignified to let his voice show how contented he was with this recent development, but Dick could tell anyways. He was proud of him too.

“You’re doing excellent work,” he said, doing his best not to sound too pleased.

“Tt, as though Batman would tolerate anyone less competent with this task,” Damian scoffed. Dick could see his cheeks flush a little bit. He fought the surprisingly strong urge to ruffle his hair.

“Of course,” Dick replied with a smile. “Oh by the way, you have a little… something right here,” he added as he pointed at his cheek.

Damian urgently rubbed it away, after scrubbing both cheeks just to make sure. “It’s charcoal. It must’ve been from my sketching earlier,” he said awkwardly.

“Ooh, you have to show me your drawings sometime!” Dick exclaimed. Maybe after this whole thing blows over and he could visit the mansion again he thought to himself.

He could see Damian stiffen in embarrassment.

“They’re in the study if you wanted to see them.” — _While I’m not present_ being heavily implied. “That room has the best natural light.”

Dick responded with a satisfied hum before darting his eyes down at a noise from the front of restaurant’s back door. Nope, just a couple of employees breaking down some cardboard boxes.

“How do you find time to draw when he’s always in there?” He would always find Bruce in his study when he wasn’t down in the cave.

“Don’t be daft Nightwing, there’s more than enough room for two people to work in there at the same time.”

He made it sound as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, but for some reason to Dick it wasn’t. He remembered that he used to do his schoolwork in Bruce’s study with him too when he was younger, but after some time he had stopped. One day, it just wasn’t comfortable to be alone in the same room as Bruce anymore. He worried constantly that he did something wrong, trying to consider what changed, but in the end Bruce never answered. Eventually he stopped asking, and found that plenty of his classmates were delighted to make a study group with him.

“Do you usually spend time in the study with him?” Dick was curious now.

Damian made an unappreciative face at the extensive questioning he was receiving.

“Whenever we’re both home...” he answered suspiciously, “and when we’re not sparring in the gymnasium.”

Huh. Dick stopped sparring with Bruce in the mansion’s workout room after he turned fourteen. After that, they would only practice down in the cave with their armor on—not that Dick was opposed to that change when he was popping puberty boners every five minutes. Dick wanted to ask Damian more questions, but he could see him getting annoyed.

“Anyways, it looks like Red Hood isn’t coming tonight, so I’m going to do one last round, and head home,” Dick chirped. Hopefully, Damian wouldn’t think anything of his questions tonight.

Damian gave him a weighted look, but eventually nodded.

“I’ll see you later,” Dick replied, and left to navigate over the roofs for a while and find where his bike was hidden.

Dick spent the ride home mulling over his conversation with Damian. He was Bruce’s biological son after all; of course they were close. Of course.

\---

Dick’s foot got caught in the windowsill as he climbed into his flat, causing him to nosedive straight into the floor of his bedroom. After another long patrol spent simultaneously searching and desperately avoiding Batman and Red Hood, he considered the pros and cons of lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of his apartment for the rest of the night. However, his day job required his joints to move properly, so he peeled himself off of the ground after a few minutes, climbed out of his suit, and crawled into a pair of sweats lying next to his bed.

While Gotham would always feel like home to Dick, he found himself missing his nightly patrols though Blüdhaven. It was a dirty, corrupt city, but it was _his_ dirty, corrupt city, and he took pride in the good he was doing. Somehow, all of the work he poured into cleaning up the criminals felt worth it, unlike his attempts to apprehend _certain_ criminals elsewhere. Red Robin was a perfectly competent crime fighter, but Dick couldn’t help wanting to check in on his territory.

Dick dug around in his pile of uniform until he found his Bat-Phone™, and dialed up Tim.

“RR here.”

“Hey Tim!”

He heard an exasperated sigh on the other end. “Hey, _Nightwing_.”

“Lighten up _Timmy_ , you’re off the clock, and this is a secure line. Nobody’s listening. Anyways, are you still in ‘Haven? We can grab some pizza from that twenty-four hour place around the corner!”

“No thanks, I have to go over some information with Spoiler back in Gotham later.”

“… You can just tell me you have a date with your girlfriend, Tim…”

“It’s not a _date_ if Batman is going to be in the same room.”

Yikes. Dating under Batman’s watchful eye was an unavoidably awkward affair. He remembered trying to flirt with some of the Titans before he learned that Bruce had hidden a one-way com device on his domino. Now that he actually thought about it, that was sort of weird, overprotective behavior considering that he was _fired_.

“ _Anywaaaays_ , how is Blüdhaven treating you?”

“I intercepted a transaction between the head of the police department and some gun traffickers, busted a drug ring downtown, and hung the district attorney upside down outside his office for allowing a convicted felon to walk free just because he’s a major investor in the local businesses. Kinda slow really.”

“Still sounds more pleasant than what I’m dealing with.” Dick tried to suppress any flashbacks of the past few days. “Wait a minute, how did you find out which group the chief was buying from? I knew she was contacting someone, but I could never find a solid lead.”

“I installed some extra surveillance cameras in some blind spots around the federal buildings and warehouses. You can watch them all manually from your laptop if you want, but there’s a background program running that filters for specific words and names.”

Dick froze. “Since when did you have access to my laptop?!”

“Your password took me two guesses, Nightwing. Also the folder containing local street camera data was one of two double encrypted folders on your hard drive. It wasn’t difficult to add a few other live feeds for your computer to monitor.”

Dick was still frozen in place, clutching his phone tighter than Mr. Freeze’s asshole.

“… Tim… Please tell me you didn’t look into the other folder…”

There was a long pause. “I have no comments to disclose aside that Steph owes me money.”

“Oh my fucking god, Tim.”

“ _’Redhead NEEDS Anal’_ —”

“—Tim _please,_ “ Dick murmured after flopping his face into his pillow.

“’ _Horse cock DADDY pounds brunette TWINK boy_ ’. There’s a lot of variety in there, I’ll give you that.”

Tim only heard a muffled scream in response.

“I would have bet with Babs too, if I didn’t think she had already seen your stash.”

Dick slid from his bed, back to lying flat on the floor, as he added another check to his list of people that he couldn't look straight into the eye anymore.

“This is it,” he moaned. “This is revenge for that one time I bumped into your desk, and dislodged that one secret photo of—“

“—Well it’s been nice catching up with you Dick. I have to go deliver some news to Batman and Spoiler, and I told Bruce I would catch a movie with him tomorrow after his meeting with the Hong Kong branch.”

Dick perked up at that.

“A movie?” Since when did Tim and Bruce watch movies together? He always suspected that their idea of quality family time together consisted of analyzing dirt samples in the cave.

“Yeah, you know the one that came out recently? The one that has Ryan Gosling, and he’s—”

“—No, I mean with Bruce.” Since when did _Bruce_ watch movies?

Dick heard another drawn out sigh.

“Watching a movie with someone doesn't always have to end with you getting into their pants. Sometimes, you want to just want to enjoy some trashy Hollywood cinema with someone in a platonic way—”

“—Hey, I watch movies with my friends sometimes!”

Like with Kory, although he was dating her at the time, and come to think of it they never actually managed to finish a single movie since they would get preoccupied halfway. He and Wally used to go to the movie theater all the time when they were younger, but he couldn’t remember an occasion they didn’t fool around in the very back seats, with hushed voices, sweaty palms, all hopped up on adolescent hormones. He used to watch movies with Babs too, but after they broke up, she put a firm stop to that.

So maybe Tim had a point, but Dick had tried watching movies with Bruce too.

When he was a child, Bruce seemed to humor his juvenile enthusiasm for every new film to come out. They would go to the Gotham City Theater on nights when crime was slow, and sit in seats as far away from everyone else as possible. Dick always loved chatting during movies, and they didn’t want to disturb the other viewers. (They also didn’t want to be recognized, but the press usually only had good things to say about Bruce spending time with his ward like every other good parent.)

It was fun sharing a drink larger than his head, and a bucket of popcorn he could probably fit himself in. Dick would tug on Bruce’s sleeve, and whisper funny observations or snarky quips into his ear. Bruce would answer back with smile, a chuckle, or if Dick was really lucky, Bruce would get really close and whisper back a smart comment of his own. Sometimes, they would get shushed for snickering too loudly, but that was all part of the fun.

Dick couldn't pin exactly when Bruce stopped laughing at badly choreographed fight scenes, poorly acted love confessions, or stopped thinking that these movies were funny at all. Perhaps it was around the time they stopped sharing a drink and popcorn, or maybe it was when Dick grew too old to watch kiddie movies, and insisted on watching more _mature_ films. There was always the possibility that crime fighting had made Bruce serious, even off the clock. Which would explain why he never cracked a grin at the hilariously awful sex scenes on the screen, or why he stopped humoring his sarcastic banter. Watching movies stopped being fun and intimate for Dick (unless he was getting into someone’s pants apparently.)

“I take your prolonged silence as a concession to my point.”

Dick blinked, his train of thought broken.

“Yeah, whatever, Tim. Just uh… Thanks for watching over Blüdhaven for me while I’m gone. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He attempted to end on a cheeky note. Though, he probably sounded distracted, despite not really thinking about anything in particular. He especially tried not to focus on the sensation of something wrapping around his rib cage, trying to push in.

“That leaves practically nothing, Dick. And don’t worry about it, RR out.” Dick heard Tim quickly shut off the com before they had a _bonding moment_ , or something ridiculous like that.

Against his better judgement, Dick pulled the blanket off his bed while still lying on the ground, and used it to cover himself before another long night of counting the number of cracks on his ceiling. It wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep anyways.

\---

Dick made it ten minutes into work before being forced to take a sick day (apparently arguing with the dogs in the K-9 unit, and accidentally spilling his cup of coffee in the evidence room made him a health _and_ a safety concern). With the rest of his day free, he decided to at least try to get some sleep before patrol. Dick set an alarm on his phone, made his way over to his closet, and began the arduous task of trying to find a clean pair of sweats to wear to sleep.

Now that Dick lived on his own, and couldn’t trust any kind of hired housekeeping service; every flat surface in his room became covered with various piles of clothes and gear vaguely organized by use and cleanliness. His closet, theoretically, should only contain clean clothes. However, after constantly forgetting to do his laundry, and forgetting that he did do his laundry, it now held a combination of clothes and uniforms that were _probably_ clean. Maybe worn once or twice at most.

Dick dug his way through the sedimentary layers of dress shirts, tennis sweaters, and polos he never dared to wear outside of the manor, a bunch of work pants that he had been missing for weeks, and a leather thong that was possibly — _probably_ — his.

Dick continued to swipe blindly behind the tower of storage boxes, when heard something fall near the back. Shit shit shit, if he just spilled a box of shuriken onto the floor of his fucked up closet, he was going to be cutting himself and his clothes for weeks.

He couldn’t see that far back, and began feeling around more carefully, trying not to brush against anything that felt too smooth. Eventually his fingers found a slim box, and he carefully pulled it out.

It was simple, black, surprisingly sturdy, and about the size of a textbook. It was covered in dust, but the utilitarianism was familiar. Perhaps he would look inside before putting it back.

He searched around the sides before feeling a button around the bottom, and pushed it to release the lid. Inside was a startling shock of red, green, and yellow.

The Robin uniform was surprisingly one of the newer ones, Dick could see it had wider shoulders and larger shorts as he held it up and inspected it. He always suspected that Bruce gave his old uniforms to Jason— which explained why the shoes were missing.

Dick perfunctorily glanced around his apartment (of course nobody else was there), recalled the last time he swept his place for bugs from nosy family members (a week ago), and started stripping out of his police uniform.

The sleep deprivation made it incredibly difficult to listen to the logical part of his brain, but he bet that if he could hear it, it would agree that putting on this borderline fetish costume he wore almost every single night as a teenager was a marvelous idea.

The shoulders were so tight that he couldn’t move his arms, and his chest made it impossible to do up the top two buttons, but the gloves and the cape still managed to fit somehow. His boxer briefs kept peeking underneath the stretchy shorts, so he decided a jockstrap was all the underwear he needed. He heard a _click_ as he fastened his decidedly tiny belt (really, how did he fit anything important in there), and looked into his full length mirror on the back of the closet door.

Dick suddenly regretted every single mistake he made in his life that would eventually culminate in him standing in front of this mirror, looking like a grown ass man stuffed into a boy’s costume.

Dick felt… big… too big for his skin, and too big to be donning this silly uniform. He had never realized how small he was when he still went by the name Robin. Back in those days, he used to feel a sense of comfort tucked in behind Batman’s towering form. Bruce’s back was as firm as a brick wall, and it would have felt quite nice too if talking to him wasn’t exactly the same way.

Although, to be fair, that wasn’t totally true. Bruce Wayne was an effortless socialite, who could engage endlessly about the most banal gossip. Batman never missed a chance to criticize or correct anything he could pick out the flaws in. It was just that whenever he was forced to discuss something that wasn’t part of his expertise, or a topic he didn’t hold the higher ground in, he would turn stony and cold— not unlike the gargoyles he perched on at night.

It was an annoyance while Dick lived at the manor, and it continued to be a pain in his ass right now. It would have been useful if he could talk about Jason to Bruce instead of talking to an empty kevlar suit. Dick wouldn’t even have to be involved if Bruce was capable of sorting out his and Jason’s convoluted feelings for each other.

All of that being said, Dick couldn’t fathom why Bruce got along perfectly well with Tim and Damian, but performed this absurd, avoidant dance with him and Jason.

Well… Perhaps he could.

Dick decided to reconsider a thought that had been buried deep inside of him. A suspicion that never would have been a possibility, until he had talked to all of the other Robins. The idea was always there, lurking underneath his thoughts, but he had managed to dutifully ignore it up until this point. Now, it felt like a claw digging right between his lungs, pushing forcefully from the back of his mind, demanding him to re-inspect the faulty evidence he had been working with all along.

Dick’s heart was tightening in his chest, his face was getting hot, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. His body always reacted first before his mind could even begin to think. His half-forgotten memories and past conversations were intersecting, giving form to his disorganized thoughts.

The conflict that lead to the end of Batman and the former Robin’s partnership had actually been building up long before the final confrontation. But perhaps it wasn’t Dick's fault that his and Bruce’s friendship became strained. He had long concluded that as his body changed while he grew into an adult, his relationships with everyone around him had adjusted as well.

But maybe he was wrong to assume that being a man meant that Bruce wouldn’t put his hand on his shoulder anymore, or that they couldn’t watch movies together any longer. Dick had never wanted any of these things to happen, but they did. He had simply accepted that men didn’t do these things together, because the alternative was that Bruce was the one who instigated the changes all those years ago.

When Dick still lived at the mansion, late at night, while he was sure that everyone in the house was long asleep, he would quietly entertain the thought that the man who guarded all of Gotham with his bulletproof sense of justice would sometimes waver. That Batman had distanced himself, because he couldn’t trust himself not to give in to the temptation Dick posed.

Dick was well aware that he was attractive. Pretty even. He was friendly, fit, and had a show-stopping smile he had long perfected. Whenever anyone complimented his looks, he would humbly disagree and laugh it off, but he wasn’t oblivious. Everyone always talked to him nicely, gave him almost anything he wanted, and let him get away with almost everything if he batted his eyelashes and smiled at them just right. Everyone except for Batman— but even then he wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

There was probably a very obvious reason why the Robin uniform barely covered his ass, and when that ass became post-pubescent, why he had to start shaving his legs instead of covering them up. Not that he minded of course, back in those days he was willing to do anything that would keep Bruce’s attention on him for even a fraction of a second longer. Sometimes, he thought it worked.

Those fantasies fueled countless sleepless nights, but the guilt was overwhelming. He eventually realized that he needed to look Bruce in the eye every morning, and still believe in Batman. No matter how much the idea tickled his stomach and made him squirm in his sheets, the possibility of Bruce not being the absolute pinnacle of justice managed to be much more frightening. So he stored it away, and hid it in the back of his thoughts until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. After all this time, his suspicion was correct: _underneath Batman’s suit was only a man_.

Dick turned away from his mirror, lay down on his bed, and shoved his pixie gloved hand into his tiny green shorts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay the porn is finally here!

It wasn’t until the third day in a row of donning the Robin uniform after patrol and furiously masturbating in it that Dick finally admitted that he was growing embarrassingly accustomed to this new addition in his daily routine.

 _It helped him sleep,_ he rationalized to himself, as he began palming himself through his scaly hot pants. He inhaled sharply as he started to apply more pressure.

He tended to knock out right after creaming his little green panties, which (after overcoming the initial torrent of crusty mortification and self-disgust in the morning) lead to Dick being much more well rested and awake during work and patrol. So what if he concocted wild fantasies about his sixteen year-old self and his mentor, came with the name _Batman_ on his lips, and only communicated with the actual Bruce through nightly reports? Dick had decided that what Batman didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and that Batman was absolutely _never_ allowed to know.

The thought of Bruce catching him with his hand down his pants, while moaning his name softly, was endlessly humiliating, but also served to make his heart beat faster and his tiny pants a little bit tighter. Dick unbuttoned the top few buttons of his tunic, and ran a gloved hand back and forth across his chest, taking in the feel of smooth leather against his nipples, pretending that the gloves were rougher, bigger, and belonged to someone else.

“ _I thought I taught you better self-control than this, Robin,_ ” Bruce used to scold him. Dick remembered when Bruce had said that to him on the training mats, whenever his posture got sloppy or his landings were imprecise. Back then the shame straightened his back.  On his bed, he felt his spine arch, his breath hitch, and his face heat up as he gripped the base of his hot length with his other gloved hand. A stain was beginning to form on the outside of his shorts. In his head, Batman was going to punish him for soiling his uniform during their bout of sparring.

Batman had pinned him down to the floor, held his hands together, and pulled down his shorts. “ _An improper use of time and resources_ ,” he would whisper from behind. Dick could practically combust from how hot every inch of his body felt. He squirmed and shivered as he felt the cold air come in contact with his freed erection, shiny and dripping at the tip. His breathing became more irregular as he panted, kicking off his shorts. Bruce would grip him tightly, but stroke him torturously slow, just enough to spread the pre-come down the rest of his cock.

“ _So pretty and lovely, just like the rest of you_ ,” Bruce would breathe, as he moved down Dick’s arching body, and Bruce’s mouth got dangerously close to his weeping head.

Dick gasped, as he stroked himself more vigorously, his hips canting up from the sheets. Bruce would hold them down though, and make sure that he couldn’t budge as Bruce swallowed down his entire length. He would take it all like it was nothing. Bruce was a pro after all. Bruce’s single-minded focus, centered solely on swallowing around his cock, left Dick writhing in place, whimpering his name.

Dick felt himself come close, and quickly pulled his hand off his cock, his hips thrusting up one last time to chase the ghost of the feeling of Bruce easing off. He gave himself a few minutes to come down from the edge, and listening to the sound of his own heavy breathing, the cars passing by, and a quiet thump outside his window – probably just another alley cat.

He reached under his bed, and felt around until he found the tube of lube he kept stashed there. Kory liked things especially slippery, but he still had plenty left after they both moved on. Although, he really tried not to think about… anyone else… while he was dressed like this.

Pulling off one of his gloves, he lubed up a finger and probed further down, slowly rubbing around his entrance. Dick had never actually been fucked before, but Bruce would be gentle and accommodating for him. Dick slipped the tip of his finger inside, while still stroking his length to distract himself the obtrusiveness. As he got used to the feeling, he pushed deeper inside, thrusting it in and out in time with his strokes.

Bruce would rub his other hand through his hair, and kiss his neck. “ _Is this… alright for you_?” Dick would shyly nod his head _yes_ , and then Bruce would go deeper, feeling around inside of him, still nuzzling behind his ear. Dick had his finger in all the way up to the knuckle, and searched for that one spot.

“ _Was that good_?” Bruce would ask, after pushing his thick fingers against Dick’s prostate and causing him to see stars behind his closed eyelids. Bruce would whisper reassurances in his ear, and make sure that he felt good, because he wanted his first time to be good for him. In his imagination, Bruce _loved_ him, even like this — a sweaty, gasping mess, dirtying his uniform and distracting them from their training.  

Soon his hips moved in time with his strokes, and he could feel his entire body clench whenever his finger dragged against his prostate, while his cock twitched and dripped a little more pre-come against his hand. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his choked moans echoed through his apartment, as he forced his finger inside harder.

“ _You want me_.” His fingers slickly slid in and out of him, his body easily taking them in and needing more, and Dick cried back, “ _Yes, Batman. Please_.”

Dick pulled his finger out of himself, re-lubed his hand, and positioned two fingers against his entrance this time. Two fingers bordered on discomfort for him, but the slight stretch he felt was more than enough for his mind to run with. His brain had already convinced itself that he needed a big fat cock inside of his ass.

He thought about how Bruce was hung— he had seen him in the mornings when he lived at the manor. He used to wonder how he didn’t split people in half with his huge cock (and later wondered what that would even feel like).

As he pushed two fingers inside himself, he imagined Bruce forcing his swollen tip through his loosened, welcoming hole. Bruce would push in slowly, but carefully, making sure it didn’t hurt, and that he could take it. When Bruce was in all the way to the hilt (his fingers in up to his knuckles), he would wait for Dick’s breathing to even out, and for him to acclimate to the burn. Bruce would wait until he was practically begging for it, and then he would finally begin moving.

He would first start painfully slow, so that Dick could feel every inch, every vein, dragging against the inside of him. He would pull almost all the way out, until he was aching from the emptiness, and then piston deep into him. It felt delicious, but it wasn’t quite _there_ , and Dick would sob and beg, until Bruce really _gave it to him_.

Bruce’s rhythm would pick up, and he would fuck Dick faster, harder. His quiet gasps turned into loud moans, forcefully ripped out of his throat, as he tightly pumped his cock and impaled himself on his own fingers.

Dick could feel himself getting close, and pulled his gloved hand away from his cock, and drew it up and down his stomach. He closed his eyes, and felt the brush of a wet leather glove against his navel and a pinch around his nipple as Bruce fucked him roughly into the mat. Bruce would kiss his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, grunting “ _Robin_ ” into his ear as he became undone. Dick would be able to smell Bruce’s sweat, and feel the slide of his own slick skin against the Batsuit.

Dick could still feel it building up, his body getting close to the edge again, even without a hand on his cock. His thrusts became erratic, and his murmurs of _Batman_ under his breath became louder, as he tried to push himself _there_. Bruce would also be losing control, holding him tight like he would never let him go, chanting his name like a prayer, because Dick was everything to him. And right before he came, Bruce groaned, “—

“ _Holy. Fucking. Shit_.”

All at once, the flush on his face, the hotness of his cock, the heat building up inside of him, every single inch of sweltering skin turned to ice. Dick winced slightly at the obscene squelch as he pulled his fingers out of his ass, felt around for the baton he kept stashed under his pillow, and turned to the familiar muffled voice coming from his window.  

“And you said _I_ have daddy issues,” Red Hood laughed as he hopped down from the windowsill. Dick’s face flushed with humiliation, and the sweat dripping down his forehead chilled his already clammy skin. There was no way Jason didn’t hear him moaning Batman’s name like a whore, or could have possibly missed the fact that he was wearing his old Robin uniform. It was horrifyingly literal how badly he had been caught with his pants down. Dick quickly tried to pull on the scaly bottoms with his one free hand, and maneuvered himself into a more defensive position.

Jason burst into fit of laughter, and removed his helmet so he could theatrically wipe at his eyes. “Fucking hell Dickie, I’m not gonna _fight_ you like this. It would hardly be fair, I can’t even _breathe_.”

Dick waited for some magical entity to open up a portal to an alternate dimension right underneath him, so that he could perhaps be eaten up by an enormous hundred-eyed tentacled leviathan (or perhaps it would eat Jason, Lord knows who would miss _him_ ). However, the longer he waited, it became more and more unlikely that such a possibility would occur. He instead attempted to compartmentalize the part of himself waiting for the floor to swallow him up, wet green panties and all, and forced his words out as steadily as he could make them.

“Todd. Why are you here.”

Without the helmet on, Dick had to begrudgingly take in Jason’s awful smirk in all of its irritating glory.

“ _Well_ ,” Dick already rolled his eyes, “I was trying to get the jump on the good boy who was supposed to be tailing me for the past week,” Jason said, leisurely making his way around the room. “I thought you were disappearing a little early the past few nights, so I wanted to see what was occupying your _attention_.”

Dick could feel his embarrassment mixing with frustration, everything building up and piercing him right behind his eyes as he listened to Jason’s annoyingly smug voice.

“I found out where you lived before I even arrived in Gotham, so I swung by to listen in a little.”

He barely made out Jason’s words past the pounding in his ears, and the sound of Jason’s guns and gear clinking with every step he took.

“Jay—” He had come close enough that Dick could see the glint of his teeth as he sneered at him.  

“You really are _daddy’s little boy_ , aren’t you?”

Whatever flimsy self-control that was holding himself together at that moment broke, flooding him with all of the feelings that threatened to drown him.

Jason played with the helmet in his hands. “Bruce always liked you better, you were always the good one. If only he could see you now, what would he say if he _knew_ —“

“—shut UP,” Dick yelled as he jumped off of the bed, tackling Jason to the ground. Jason had to let go of his dumb helmet to block all of Dick’s furious punches aimed right at his stupid, smug face as he straddled him.

Finally he wasn’t smiling anymore, shocked at Dick’s angry grimace— his wild blue eyes quickly filling with black. He was busy concentrating protecting his face from Dick’s hits, sometimes missing and getting clipped at the temple or cheek. Every single time Dick’s fists missed his head and collided the floor, the impact echoed throughout the apartment (for once, Jason pitied the criminals in Blüdhaven).

He didn’t expect Dick’s change in strategy when he felt the impact of an elbow to his gut, his wheeze giving Dick an opening to nail him right in his nose. Jason blinked dazedly, scowling and sniffling from the blood running down his face. Dick gave a hateful, satisfied grin, before yelping at having his hair pulled harshly down, and being flipped over so that Jason was on top.

He flailed helplessly as Jason put his weight on his legs and held down his arms. Jason was a lot heavier than him, and there was no way he could possibly turn them back around.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Dick growled in frustration, still trying to pull his arms free.

“Hey. _Ow_. Dick, _quit it_ — ”

Some of the blood running from Jason’s nose was dripping onto his face now. “— _Ugh_. Get _off_ of me—”

“—Not until you _calm down_.”

Dick’s pants were uneven, and his body shaking with anger. He couldn’t stand the fact that Bruce somehow _did know_ , and that they hadn’t had a real conversation in _years_ , because ever since the first night that Dick touched himself underneath the covers to thoughts of Bruce’s large, capable hands, _everything_ permanently shifted between the two of them. But right now, the only thing that Dick could do was stare into Jason’s bruised, bloody face, and feel Jason’s breath against his own.

His breathing evened itself out, and he was no longer blind with rage, but there was something else—

“…Jason,” Dick spat out, trying to control his anger better this time. “What the fuck, is _that_.”

Jason immediately released Dick’s arms, and recoiled like he was electrocuted.

“ _Sorry_! Sorry.” Jason held his arms up next to his head, while concentrating intently on the stain on the wall next to Dick’s head.

“I didn’t… I meant to—” his ears were beginning to flush, “—you were moving around a lot, and sort of grunting and breathing really hard on me —” the flush spread down to his neck, “—not that it’s your fault, or anything—” perhaps at this rate, Jason wouldn’t need the helmet anymore, “—it just happens, _you know_??”

Actually Dick did know, but the knowledge that Jason’s erection was only a couple layers of cloth and a cup away from his own groin was just unquestionably awful. Dick could only cover his face with his hands, and tilt himself away, all while groaning in disgust.

“Nng—”

The motion must to have caused some unintended friction between their crotches. Dick lowered his hands slightly and glared at Jason, who at least had enough shame to be embarrassed at his utterance.

“Jason, you’re such a _freak_ ,” he whined. “I swear to God, every single interaction with you is the most _terrible_ experience.”

Jason rubbed at his sore, bleeding nose. It probably hurt like a bitch. The thought made Dick grin a little.

“ _I’m the freak_?! You were engaged in _hand to gland_ combat, while equipped with a ten year old _kiddy costume_ , and screaming your _dad’s_ name!” Jason yelled, gesturing his arms wildly.

He stared at Jason, his sweating, heaving chest, his big hands, lost and hovering in the air, and all of the blood in his body seeming to rush anywhere except for his brain. Dick felt a surge of heat, searing his insides with rage, embarrassment, and…

It took him a minute to register the sharp taste of blood in his mouth, and another minute to realize that the wet sound he was hearing was coming from his lips smashing against Jason’s.

“ _Mmmff_ , uhhmff, Dick,” Jason managed to murmur as Dick attacked his mouth. He eventually pulled away, and Dick almost punched him again for the interruption. “Don’t you like, _hate_ me? Or something?”

“Y—” Dick started. But when he really thought about it, he wasn’t quite sure. He didn’t really like Jason, but he felt _something_ for him. He felt a lot of things actually. Right now, though, he mostly felt like getting off. The battle between irritation, lust, and Dick Jr. begging for attention made it incredibly difficult to think about anything aside from the feeling of Jason’s rough, chapped lips against his. “—no? Wait, yes? _Maybe_? Look, do you want me to touch your dick or not?”

Watching Jason blush from his hairline to his chest started to become very entertaining. Jason wiped the cut on his lip with his hand, and continued his staring contest with the ugly wall. “If that’s okay with you… or whatever…” he mumbled softly into the back of his hand. If Dick hadn’t stopped breathing at that moment, he might’ve missed it.

Dick pushed himself up so that he was eye level with Jason, used one of his hands to swat Jason’s hand from his mouth, and turned his head so that they were finally looking at each other.

“Hey.” Jason blinked. Dick could feel the warmth from his face against his fingertips. “Open your mouth,” Dick demanded.

Jason’s eyebrows bunched together in confusion, but after some hesitation he finally parted his lips. Dick dove right back in, licking at Jason’s cut, his tongue, his teeth, resuming their vicious kiss from before. It was painful—Jason kept _biting_ him— but for some reason he needed _more_. Jason moaned, and Dick pawed at his shirt and his pants to try and get them off.

He let Jason pull away with a gasp, panting as he undid the catches and belts in his gear so that he could undress. Dick ground their hips together, as Jason hurriedly flung off his shirt.

“… What are you staring at?” Jason asked tensely, now that Dick had stopped grinding against him.

“Nothing,” Dick answered. It wasn’t like Dick wanted to stop—nothing was stopping them now, short of Batman himself making an appearance. It was just that Jason was flushed all across his chest, and Dick could barely see the color of his pink nipples against the red tint of his skin. He wanted very badly to taste them… so he did.

Jason yelped as Dick bit at one of his perky little nipples, and played with the other. He began feeling up his entire chest, groping at the muscle, mouthing at the entire expanse of scarred skin, watching every abused spot bruise dark red. Jason swore and kept whispering “oh God, _oh God_ ,” under his breath. Dick took a minute to look up at Jason, his giant form shuddering against him, his lips rosy, swollen and gasping for air, and his face so red that he was practically glowing in the dark. It was all very appealing. It made him want to lick him all over.

Dick kissed him again, this time palming his crotch, and gripping his hair as he fucked his mouth with his tongue.

“W-wait, wait.” Jason desperately undid his belt, and pulled down his pants and underwear, finally freeing his cock. It was… kind of small… but incredibly thick and flushed with blood, just like the rest of him. It still had a little trail of pre-come connecting with his jock. With his gloved hand, Dick began stroking him, and with the other he raked his nails down Jason’s back. It felt so heavy, so hot, through the leather.

Jason keened, arching and shaking against him, twitching in his hand. “ _Fuck_ , Dick—oh God— _Dick_.”

“ _Jason_ ,” Dick said quietly, right into his ear. Jason’s eyes snapped open, shocked as he apparently remembered that he had hands, and pulled Dick’s cock out from the scaly shorts, pumping him to full hardness.

“Is… that… good?” Jason asked breathily, staring down at Dick’s length in his hand.

It _really wasn’t_ , to be honest. Jason’s hands were dry, calloused, and held his cock shakily like a nervous teenager who was expecting to be caught any second by his parents. Dick could probably get himself off quicker by simply jerking himself off, but despite the chaffing, Jason’s hands still felt _right_.

“A little tighter.” Dick dug in his nails slightly.

Jason bucked his hips, and moaned in response. He obediently gripped Dick tighter as he jerked him off, and Dick rewarded him with kisses around his neck, and rubbed apologetically at his fresh scratches.

“God, you’re so _hot_ ,” Jason babbled, “I can’t believe you shaved for this.” He rubbed his hands up and down the muscle on Dick’s smooth thighs.

“I—” Dick inhaled sharply at Jason’s hands moving up to his chest, and feeling him underneath his tunic, “—always shave my legs…”

“You _what_?” Dick latched himself to his mouth again to end that train of thought, focusing his attention at Jason’s tip.

Jason whimpered, but unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to shut him up, and Jason pulled away to continue spewing nonsense, instead of trying to get him off. “Hey—ah— did Bruce ever bring his girls home while you still lived there?”

Dick feebly attempted to think back though the sex clouding his memories and thoughts, while grasping the cock in front of him. “I… don’t remember…”

“You know the office right next to his room?” Jason smirked. “I used to sneak in there… every night after those parties that I wasn’t allowed to go to.”

“Nng—”

Jason’s strokes suddenly started to become more pleasurable than unpleasant, even as he continued talking. “I would go over to the desk… it shared a wall with his bedroom, you know? And I would crawl under it, and—fuck—I would put my ear against the wall, and try to… hear him.”

Dick absolutely hated how this was making his blood run hotter, and his breathing more uneven.

“Most of the time, you would hear the girls screeching or whatever… but… with the quiet ones… if you listened real carefully… you could hear Bruce _come_.”

Dick smashed their mouths together again, knocking their teeth and moaning right into his mouth. He knocked Jason’s hand away and grabbed both of their cocks together, struggling to wrap his hand around their combined girth.

Jason grasped the both of them in his long fingers, and stroked them together, panting as he continued wasting his oxygen with his incessant talking.

“You ever… think about how he would sound… if you could—nhn—hear him for real?”

Of course he did, Dick never sparred without his cup after the day he got it, because Bruce would sound downright pornographic when he exerted himself. He thought he might come in his pants just from watching him lift weights and do pull ups—Alfred’s silent judgement was barely enough to keep him in line.

Dick felt himself twitch in Jason’s hand, listening to his breaths and grunts, imagining that they were deeper and huskier.

“I still think about him,” Jason whispered into his mouth as he kissed him. “I always think about him.”

“O-oh god.” Their cocks were getting wetter, and Jason’s strokes were feeling so much better now.

“Fuck… you feel… so hot,” Jason started, as his voice lowered into more mumbling.  Dick’s moans were getting louder, but he could still hear Jason’s whispers, and caught him mouthing “ _Bruce, Bruce, Bruce_.”

Jason was squeezing them tighter, pumping them harder, and Dick could feel Jason squirming on him, as they got closer and closer. Despite how heavy he was breathing— _gasping_ — he still felt that he wasn’t getting any air, and his head felt dizzy. He _needed_ to come.

“I’m—fuck, _fuck_ —I’m gonna—“ Jason whimpered.

Jason practically sobbed as his hips thrust up to rub their cocks together while he stroked them. Dick clutched him, as though they were going to fall as they got closer to the edge. He touched their foreheads together, and looked into Jason’s wet, hazy eyes, listening to Jason’s words dissolve into sputtering cries and gasps.

Dick felt Jason take in one last shaky breath, and gave a quiet groan as he came all over Dick’s cock, clenching the two of them tighter and tighter as he rode out his orgasm. Dick snapped his hips one last time into Jason’s grip, and came shortly afterward, trembling and moaning.

Jason pushed Dick back onto the floor, and landed on top of him, the both of them breathing heavily in the silence.

Dick tried to ignore the feeling of their drying sweat and cum sandwiched between them, as he listened to sounds coming from the street outside and got crushed under Jason’s weight.

“Fuck—you’re heavy—get off,” Dick griped, as he pushed Jason off of him. He peeled off his completely soiled uniform, grabbed a random piece of (hopefully) already dirty laundry off of the floor, and wiped them down.

Jason refused to meet his eyes again (alternatively, staring at the pile of dirty Robin gear at the side), which was _completely_ understandable, honestly. What do you even say to your somewhat-brother after the both of you come while thinking of your kind-of-dad? Dick’s mind ran through a few different possibilities of what he could say to Jason to be reassuring, positive, and big brotherly, but it all sounded like disingenuous drivel.

In the end, Dick stood, held out his hand to help Jason up. Worry washed over Jason’s face, and he frantically began picking up all of his things. “Right, it’s late. Let me just—“

“—No… wait,” Dick interrupted, taking his clothes and gear from his hands, and setting them down. “Just… worry about it tomorrow.” Jason stared at him in disbelief, until Dick pushed him onto the bed, and hesitantly climbed in after him. It wasn’t like they were going to _spoon_ or anything. Dick inched back and forth until he decided that he was lying an appropriate distance away from Jason.

“…Dick,” Jason whispered into the dark after a few minutes.

Dick turned towards him, Jason’s face somewhat illuminated by the light of the streetlights below barely shining through the window. He studied Jason’s features, as he visibly gathered his thoughts for whatever he was going to say. It had been years since Dick was this close to him, close enough so that he could see every freckle and scar scattered around his face. But Dick couldn’t recognize what was new or what had always been there; he had never really _looked_ at Jason when he was around back then.

Jason finally opened his mouth, but failed to say anything at all, and eventually it snapped shut. He scooted closer to Dick, until their shoulders were touching, and then closed his eyes.

“’Night, Dickiebird.”

Dick was frozen still, trapped, watching his cracked ceiling. He couldn’t tell whether minutes or hours had passed by, or if Jason had already fallen asleep. Slowly, Dick shifted his hand so that it just barely met Jason’s underneath the sheets.

“Good night, Little Wing,” Dick said quietly into the room. He let the words sit in his mouth. They didn’t feel even remotely familiar. Despite being able to feel his warmth next to him, Jason still felt miles away.

They would never be close like Dick was with Damian, or Tim, or Babs, or any of his other friends. But Jason was the only one who _understood_.

Dick took one last, long look at Jason’s sleeping face, this time committing it to memory, and shut his eyes.


End file.
